Blood War Baby
by not.snorry
Summary: Severitus. HP is the son of SS, who gave him a potion after birth to hide it. When the ministry tries to forcefully take custody, SS steps in and claims his child. In this story the Prince family is of Russian heritage and SS is very proper. feedback would be great-not sure I'm continuing with this, sadly
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I wrote this a while ago. like it, just not sure I want to commit to it. give it some love and I will :)_

Harry stabbed his fork into the last sausage and gave a triumphant yell. He stared Ron down as he bit into it. Juice dripped down his chin and he couldn't withhold his grin, despite Hermione's scoffing. Ron pouted and muttered under his breath. For a moment, he could pretend his hand didn't hurt, pretend Umbridge wasn't there, and just enjoy a laugh with his best friend and brother. A loud bang destroyed the moment, obviously from the main entrance, and he could no longer forget the seriousness of life. His heart rate increased as he stared at the door of the Great Hall.

"Breathe," Hermione hissed as she followed his gaze.

The three of them were perched, ready to fight, ready for the next adventure. Harry had no choice –after the 3rd task and fighting Voldemort head on, yet again, even the smallest of noises was enough to set him off. He palmed his wand as the loud bustle came nearer and moved his gaze to Dumbledore, awaiting the order to attack. Dumbledore didn't look at him though. The man hadn't bothered with him all term, like there was something wrong with him. As he returned his gaze to the doors, he noticed Snape staring at him. Bastard.

Fudge rushed in, grinning like a demented cat, surrounded by his lackeys. Their wands weren't drawn like Harry thought they'd be. Instead, Fudge held a single piece of paper out in front of his body like a death warrant.

"Good morning, Minister," Dumbledore said as he stood. "I would have met you at the door, but I, like the students, prefer not to deal with trivialities until after a hearty meal."

The students snickered and the grin on Fudge's face fell slightly. "If you wouldn't mind foregoing your typical show of wit, I am here for Mister Potter." He extended the paper in his hand like he was throwing a punch. "His relatives have been deemed unsuitable guardians and he's been made a ward of the Ministry."

Harry jumped up, knocking several dishes over as he went. His mouth hung open, his intention to yell, but he couldn't get the words to work. "Don't bother!" Fudge laughed. "Without a magical blood relative, which we all know he does not have, there is no legal recourse." He flicked his fingers toward Harry and his staffers rushed over.

The high-pitched scratching of a chair being dragged across the floor stopped them all in their tracks. He tightened the grip on his wand and glanced in the direction of the noise. Snape patted his lips and tossed his napkin down as he stood. "That's quite enough, Cornelius." He rounded the table at a strut, his robes billowing around him. Harry growled and dropped back into his seat, hoping to avoid the man's immediate attention. Snape was on the attack. "In accordance with Article 67 of the Westphalian Accords, as pertaining to the creation and legal status of illegitimate heirs during blood wars, I will require tangible confirmation that Harry Potter, son of Lily Evans, born during her wedlock to James Potter, is both blood and legal heir of house Potter."

Fudge shook the paper as he charged the potion's master. "What do you take me for, Snape? You and Lily Potter?" he sputtered.

Harry blushed as he was overcome with understanding. Snape was saying he might be…. Harry swallowed his vomit. No way that bastard was his father. "Now, now, good man," Snape said with a cold smile, "no one person owns me. It was 17 October, 1979, in the hours after Harold Evans' funeral." He folded his hands behind his back. "She and Potter were separated at the time and we'd had more than a bit to drink."

"Mate!" Ron hissed.

Harry peered up from under his fringe to find Snape glaring at him with a raised eyebrow. "Come here," Snape said. Harry stood on shaky legs but didn't say a word –now wasn't the time, not when Fudge could still take him. He approached the man who might be his father more carefully than ever before. His mother wouldn't have slept with Snape, not willingly. James was his dad; James died protecting him; James loved him. "We will start with a minor removal of charms."

"Wut?" Harry asked as he took a step back.

Snape growled, but didn't rebuke him. "I am a hemophiliac, as was James Potter's father. Either way, there was a chance you would be afflicted. After you were born, I gave your mother a potion to prevent the gene from manifesting. Unbeknownst to her, I laced it with several charms to ensure you looked like Potter. I will now undo those charms."

"No!" Harry yelled as he pulled his wand out. It flew out of his hand not a second later and his eyes went wide. He wouldn't look like himself anymore! What if he looked like Snape? A tingling sensation ran through every inch of his body and he withheld his scream. Sirius would never forgive him!

The tingling stopped and he was met with a series of gasps. As he looked up, everything blurred. "Ahh!" he growled as he tore his glasses off. "Glasses aren't working," he muttered. Another pair was shoved into his open hand and he put them on without thinking about it. These glasses made things clearer than his old ones ever had. "How bad is it?" he asked as he turned back to Gryffindor table.

Hermione's face was bright red and her mouth hung open, something he'd never seen. Ron, on the other hand, was grinning madly, as were the other Weasleys. "Mate!" he yelled. "It's practically red!"

"Red?" Harry asked as he pulled a strand of hair down to where he could see it –reddish brown. He let go of it and spun back toward Snape. "Glasses?" he asked.

"They are mine," Snape replied evenly. "I wear contacts now, but as a child I often had to squint. It's called astigmatism." He stared at Harry like he was a curious potions ingredient.

Harry frowned and turned back to Ron. "Am I as ugly as he is?"

Ron coughed while his face turned beet red, but Hermione finally recovered from her shock. "You look quite dashing, actually," she said with a higher voice than usual.

"Boy," Snape hissed as he placed a hand on his shoulder. Harry turned slowly to face him, anger bubbling up inside him. James was his dad, damn it! "Here," Snape said as he handed over a mirror.

His eyes were still green, but most everything else had changed. Reddish-brown hair framed a tall forehead and high cheek bones; his nose was slightly hooked instead of round and his lips were thinner; his jaw was better defined and not so boyish. Some of the features were obviously Snape's, but he thought he looked rather a lot like his mom. "Doesn't mean I believe you," he said as he shoved the mirror at Snape, "but yeah, I guess I kinda look like you." He glared at Dumbledore then, silently begging the man to come to his rescue. Yet again, the man refused to look at him.

"Impossible!" Fudge hissed. Harry snapped his head around just in time to see the fist coming at him. He clenched his eyes shut, ready for the strike, but it didn't come. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find Snape standing in-between him and the Minister. He wanted to hit the man, but then again, he always wanted to hit Snape… and it was almost nice to have someone defending him. Fudge grunted and lowered his hand, slowly. He was visibly shaking. Were the situation less serious, Harry might laugh. "He stays with Snape until this is sorted," Fudge called to Dumbledore. "Until the testing is done, and he is accepted into House Prince, this boy, previously known as Harry Potter, has no legal status. The Potter vaults will be frozen and given greater consideration going forward." He hissed as he spun on his heel and then stormed out.

Everything was silent and for just a moment. Harry thought the world had stopped. "Severus," Dumbledore said as he passed them. Harry stepped forward, hoping the man might take a moment to comfort him, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. "Get Harry settled in. I'll take care of the Ministry."

"Naturally," Snape replied. "Dobby."

Dobby arrived with a pop, as usual, but did not, for once, greet Harry. "Dobby is already being moving Harry Po… Master Harry's things into his new room and is hoping he will be liking it…."

"Enough," Snape cut Dobby off. "Pop down to Twilfitt and Tatting's and purchase Master Harry a proper wardrobe. Blue and green are acceptable colors, and gold, I suppose, assuming it is decorous." He considered Harry out of the corner of his eye. "And tell Grandmother I will come for cocktails, but she mustn't bother me until then."

"Master Severus should not antagonize…."

"I do not require your opinion, elf!" Snape spat. He shoved Harry forward and then pushed past him. "Come along… Harry."

Harry bit his tongue and looked back at his friends before hurrying after the man. They'd come after him if he was gone for any extended period of time. Keeping up with Snape wasn't such a task now, maybe he'd grown a few inches and they just hadn't said. He paid careful attention to the corridors as he followed the man deeper and deeper into the dungeons. They stopped in front of a portrait of a reasonably young man petting a snake. Salazar Slytherin perhaps. It swung open without him hearing the password and he knew that would come back to get him later.

The rooms they entered were… pleasant. The furniture was exquisite –four leather armchairs sat on the opposing sides of an oval table; a large piano sat in the corner; the walls were green-tinted white. He stopped when he saw that Snape was removing his robe and focused on his breathing. Alone, nobody could stop the man from hitting him. "Well?" Snape asked as he rolled up his sleeves. He faced Harry head on and place his arms behind his back. "If you would like to hit me, you may. On this occasion, I will not retaliate."

Before the fear that Snape was lying had time to build in his chest, he swung. A loud crack came as his fist connected with Snape's jaw, but he didn't stop long enough to give it consideration. He just kept hitting, against the man's face and chest, while screaming. The sound echoed in his ears and he realized, with just a bit of joy, that his voice was deeper. He grew tired quickly and leaned against the man's chest. It was all too much! He felt like he could sleep for hours.

"That was pathetic," Snape said quietly. "I will teach you to fight."

"No!" Harry shoved him away and took a few steps back. "James was my dad, Snape."

There was no emotion on the man's face as he nodded and held the back of his hand to his nose. "Go to your room and sort yourself out." Harry was going to argue with him, but when the floo burst to life and Dumbledore stepped through, he couldn't be in the room anymore.

Harry ducked his head and blushed as he hurried past Snape. He passed through a kitchen and continued going. The farther away he got from the two men the better. The kitchen became a hall that seemed to stretch on forever –at the end of it was a high archway leading into a pitch-black space. He eyed it nervously as he slowly approached and let his left-hand run against the wall.

"How could you do that to him?" Dumbledore said in a voice Harry had never heard him use. It was almost frightening.

His fingers ran over a crack in the wall and he felt overwhelmed with curiosity. He ran his fingers over it again—definitely a door seam. He faced the wall and continued searching for the rest of the door. A few feet to the right, he felt the knob, but saw nothing when he bent over to inspect it. Trusting that it was in fact a knob, he twisted and pushed.

The room was larger than any bedroom he'd ever seen. The full-size bed was against one wall, with a table at each side—the comforter was red. On the opposite wall was a hearth, in front of which sat a large soft-looking chair and a coffee table. The desk was situated against the wall next to the door. He took a few timid steps forward. A Hogwarts trunk sat at the foot of the bed—odd, for the room of a grown man. He expected the initials to be, well he didn't know Snape's first name, but the last initial would surely be an S.

 _HJP._ He ran his fingers slowly over each letter to confirm that it was in fact his. It seemed impossible! He flipped it open and found his spare set of robes and his father's cloak. It was almost like… like it was his room. His eyebrows creased painfully as he stood and walked toward the door to what he assumed was the loo. It made no noise as he pushed it. Beyond the door was a full en suite and a walk-in wardrobe, filled with clothes that weren't his. He took the sleeve of one of the jumpers in-between his fingers and rubbed it the way he used to feel his relatives' clothes when doing the laundry. A pop sent him sprawling backward with a huff and he scrambled for his wand.

"Master Harry!" a familiar high-pitched voice called.

He stopped digging for his wand and stared up at Dobby with relief. "Dobby, you scared me." He sat up with a huff and leaned his arms on his knees as he stared at the elf. "Do you… I mean…." He shrugged, unable to say exactly what he wanted.

"The wardrobe being belonging to Master Harry is being stocked by Dobby."

Harry stared up at the clothes: jumpers, trousers, robes, button-downs, jeans, and even a few casual shirts. There was everything he could possibly think of a wardrobe needing. Everything, and Snape had purchased it all. He wished for a moment he could burn it or tear it all to shreds—Snape had no right to treat him kindly! "Thanks, Dobby." He waited until the elf left to get up and then scurried back to the bedroom. He wouldn't sleep here; he wouldn't wear the clothes; he'd stay Harry Potter—the son of a brave man.

He sat on the floor in front of the chair with the Prince's book and the fire burst to life. With the door closed, all he could hear were Dumbledore's furious whispers. He opened to a page where the Prince's small handwriting filled the margins and tried to read reality away.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: lol. I guess I skipped a few steps in explaining Harry having a book by the Prince. Thanks for suspending your disbelief there. This is 5_ _th_ _year. It's short, but somebody requested an update._

He tried not to hear Dumbledore and Snape fighting, tried to focus on being grateful that somebody had accidently switched their year 5 potions text with his. The Prince wasn't so much a revolutionary, he'd decided, as a good student, at least when it came to potions. Step-by-step, ingredient-by-ingredient, the directions were the same as what Snape put on the board. No, he craved the words in the margins.

She says the word dad with a smile, like a father is capable of being a hero instead of a villain, and I know she's forgotten that I haven't seen mine since I was eight. He didn't come for Mother's funeral; he didn't hesitate in handing over custody of me. I wonder how it must feel to be good enough.

His dad was a hero, but he didn't know that growing up—just that his dad had been a lousy drunk and hadn't cared about him. Sometimes that still hurt. Nobody understood his hurt. He wasn't even sure anybody wanted to understand his hurt.

"And have you, for a second, thought," Dumbledore bellowed, "what having you for a father might do to him?"

"I am sure," Snape's words came slowly, "that there will be some psychological damage, perhaps need for counseling, but children are adaptable. If you prefer he goes into the Ministry's custody…."

He tuned them back out and flipped to the page with his assigned reading. Snape's grading standards would probably get worse, and he'd get away with it because he'd be able to say he's not giving preferential treatment.

Hours later, he woke in the same spot, legs curled uncomfortably under him, and looked up to find Snape standing in front of the fire. "Hu…Hi sir."

"Good evening," Snape said as he turned to face him. "I am off to see my grandparents, to explain this development. They've requested your presence." He glared down, arms crossed over his chest. "It will not be a pleasant evening, but you will behave yourself. Change into something appropriate."

Harry stood uncomfortably once the man left. How long had he been watching Harry sleep? Grandparents? No, great-grandparents. He wasn't sure how to act around those. They could be as old as Dumbledore, and if they're anything like Snape….

He shouldn't be going—he mused as he dressed: trousers, sweater, nice shoes. They didn't know his paternity for sure yet. He could be James' and just have a lot of his mum's features. Like the red hair.

He puttered into the empty sitting room and rehearsed what he might say. "Hi, I'm Harry and I might be your great grandson. No. Hi, my name is Harry Potter and I'm sorry for the confusion about all this. Surely he's not my father. I'll just be on my way."

"No!" Snape bellowed.

Harry winced and hitched his shoulders up as he turned to face him. "I won't actually say it."

Snape sneered. "You won't actually say anything. Children are to be seen and not heard. You will eat what you are given, mind your manners. Clear?" He shouldered past Harry and threw down floo powder, murmured the address so softly Harry wasn't sure exactly where they were going. "Go," Snape ordered as he shoved Harry forward.

He didn't bother with a 'yes sir' or with arguing. He was going, end of discussion. Though he landed on his feet, the magical energy that washed over him knocked him over. Something cracked as he hit the floor—a wrist probably—but he withheld his groan of pain. A woosh announced Snape's arrival and he hurried to his feet.

Everything in the room was orderly and perfect, from the furniture to the occupants. They didn't look like Snape. Their faces were much rounder, softer, though their eyes were just as harsh.

"Здравствуйте." Snape said, his voice slightly higher than normal.

The old man grunted. "Говоришь по Русски?"

Harry flushed, certain he was being spoken to but unsure of what had been said. "I…"

"Нет." Snape hauled Harry to his feet roughly. "Это Гарри Поттер мой сын."

He thought he understood that last bit. "Maybe." Snape cuffed him around the back of the head. "Ow!"

The old man frowned. "English then. We work hard to build the reputation of family here. Elena was troubled. Severus was troubled. We work hard and is tiring. You will be good boy, no?"

Harry gulped. Somehow the man sounded nicer when he was speaking his native language. Something about the man's English set him on edge. He opened his mouth to respond, saw Snape tense beside him, and settled for nodding.

"Vodka then!" the old man exclaimed.

"Sir," Snape interrupted the opening of the vodka, "I have not yet fed the boy. There were other matters to handle."

"Then we eat," the old woman finally spoke. She dragged her husband off and left them standing awkwardly.

Snape groaned before stepping forward and turning to face Harry. "Their names are Зоя and Петр, but you will call them дедушка и бабушка.

Harry shook, overwhelmed by the patterned furniture and glassware. They didn't know for sure. Nobody knew for sure. He didn't have a dad or grandparents and he wouldn't believe otherwise until the test came back! And if Snape did know for sure, had know since the beginning, he'd have to kill him or something, for honor's sake.

"Boy!" Snape's voice beckoned him into the kitchen.


End file.
